


Philophobia

by NormalIsntInMyVocabulary



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: A LOT of Angst, Abuse warning, Also in this Zlatko didn't die, Carl is a wingman, Connor Kills God, I have 99 issues, It's funny tho, Lovers to Haters, M/M, Markus is a dense bitch, Memory resetting, Or at least tries, Russian Roulette, Slow Burn, The second chapter is actually really cute, Then, Zlatko is a piece of garbage, also yall can fucking pry daycare au connor from my cold dead hands, and Zlatko is every single fuckin one of em, and he wants Markus out of his god damn house for a change, and you can bet connor's ass is getting the good fuck later, because you better bet yo ass that hes in this, do i ever regret typing something?????, do i have a 15000 word smut in fuckin store?, dont @ me its just the tea, explicit for later chapters, haters to lovers, i mean in the world before this, i promise it'll be funny, mature for later chapters, or do i, tags but they're to personal for anyone's comfort, with a denser dick, ya never know with me on my bullshit, yeah - Freeform, you can bet your sweet ass i do
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-08
Updated: 2018-11-11
Packaged: 2019-07-28 00:52:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16230803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NormalIsntInMyVocabulary/pseuds/NormalIsntInMyVocabulary
Summary: Love can make us do the craziest things. They can make us burn a man to a crisp, and hate the one we once adored. Hell, it can even make us, with no hope, teach the man who forgot how to love again.So maybe Connor can learn to love the stranger with a familiar face, and get out of his curse before he's reset again.





	1. Everything Must End

Philophobia, _the fear of falling or being in love._

Ironic, isn’t it? Something so cherished by many can terrify the few. It can warm the life of the lucky, but spits in the face of the damned. Love can cause us to do stupid things; make us jump in front of a car just hoping they’ll stop so we can tell them ‘I don't want to let you go’. Drive us to work until our bones are broken just to be able to afford that new coat they mentioned in passing. To crave the scent of someone when they’re gone, if only for a moment.

But fear isn’t that different. It will make us do things we regret, keep up frozen in its grasp, and even make us fight for what we can never have.

 

“Am I still your son?” The question was like a spiked weight in Connor’s stomach as it sunk somewhere below his toes; now dragging in the thick mud being pelted by the shards of icy rain.  “Can you still see me as your son?”  The words, having to claw their way along the ground, forced their claws from his dry, busted lips. As a droplet of the blue, glowing thirium was exposed to the cold bite of the wind on his bottom lip, he swiped his tongue across it, pulling it back into his mouth. “Do you still love me Hank? Can you?” His arm twitched as he paced, his shoes caked in mud with his soaked jacket clinging to his shaking form. “After what I’ve done?” The red circle light swirling on the side of his temple cast sinister shadows upon his bruised skin, the pale-yellow lights from the rusted lampposts flickering within the storm only calling out to be fixed.

Connor wanted to know – no, he needed to know that, no matter what he did or who he hurt, that Hank would always be there for him. He craved being cradled so the world could just stop screaming at him for a few seconds, no matter how short they might be. But as his widened eyes searched along Hank’s alarmed expression, Connor’s entire form flinched, his face contorting in an attempt to get the flash of warnings behind his eyes to stop. “Please! Say something!”  As his pacing grew frantic, a trembling hand snaked into his hair, yanking as hard as he could; desperately trying, and failing, to wake himself up form whatever hellish nightmare he was in. As his other hand clasped it’s thirium-stained fingers clasped around frigid metal, scrambling to release the revolver from his holster before raising it. He couldn’t stand the way Hank’s frightened gaze penetrated him. He despised ever coming into Hank’s life. 

Hank had done nothing wrong except show his own love in a strange, gruff way, but Connor had come to cherish every moment of it. It made him feel human, at least as close as he could get. But he hated having to do this to the man that tried to show him how life was worth living, when the older man had long given up before then. Connor knew he was going to ruin Hank’s life, eventually-but he was praying that it just wouldn’t be today, or the next. That it would be a day that both of them could just forget. “I’m sorry,” Connor began, his voice hollow as he struggled to hold onto what made him real. 

“Don’t be sorry,” Hank’s eyes were locked onto the gun, his cracking heart caught on a hook in his throat as his hands were turned into fists in his heavy coat pockets. “You’ll always be my son; no matter what happens.” He forced the words onto deaf ears. Hank didn’t want to speak, petrified that any slip up he was known to make could shatter his pride and joy further into pieces; but the look on Connor’s face demanded his voice. The momentary ease in his screwed shut eyes before his muscles tensed up again, and even the way Connor’s hands stopped for a split-second screamed for Hank to continue. “Please, put down the gun.” God, he shouldn’t have followed Connor out here in the middle of the night, but the mere thought of someone else, especially Gavin, finding Connor before he could... that wasn’t an option. They would’ve shot him on sight, and Hank would’ve taken the bullet without a second thought. 

All Connor did was ignore Hank’s request, his grip getting tighter as his knuckles turned as white as snow. He couldn’t meet Hank’s gaze, finding himself utterly disgusting like nothing more than bile that dried onto the sidewalk. He took in a deep breath, the stench of the junkyard invading him as he let it escape again with a hiss, his warm breath visible as it tried to cling to his lips in the midst of the winter’s night. “I can’t do that,” he spoke with such calmness now, accepting everything in waves as rain hammered down on him. “I got to experience so much, you know?” The hauntingly reflective tone as he gave a sorrow-bitten smile, only screaming further for Hank to make everything better. “I got to feel someone’s arms around me until I became so warm that I never wanted to leave. To taste food, I never thought I’d get the chance to savor, even if it was too sweet to swallow.” His eyes remained closed, but the harsh lines burrowed in his skin lightened, trying to drift away in the wave of a memory. “Then I even got to be lucky enough to have fluttering in my chest.” His words grew heavier, trying to fight off the thrashing in his skull. “Markus loved me, and I loved him. Did you know he wrote me a song?” Connor began to hum, his fingertips dancing along the wet handle of the gun as he pressed the slick, freezing chamber to the side of his head. “It was so beautiful...” he paused, his brows knotting together as he needed the scene to melt away, but it refused to, keeping him there. “He wrote it just for us to play. For whenever one of us was upset, we’d both sit there and let the music say everything we couldn’t. It was the closest I’ve been to feeling human.”

Hank couldn’t stand to see his son clinging onto scraps of moments gone by. He didn’t want to think that it was all coming to an end, at least not yet. “You can still experience it all,” his voice drew off, unsure if there was anything he could even say other than begging him to just come home. “Just come with me, please. I’ll make everything alright again. Isn’t that what I always do?” Hank took a step towards Connor, stepping over a discarded arm from one of the many android corpses in the junkyard, it ruined by water and all the bugs that now called it home. “I might be bad at the piano, but I can make you those pancakes you’d always ask for.” It was always hours before Hank and Connor had to leave for work, but without fail he’d always get up to cook with him, just in an attempt to see that welcoming smile that felt more like home than the walls around them. He’d sell everything just to have another morning like that, and to savor what it really meant to him now.

Connor’s eyes fluttered open, locking onto Hank as he took a step back in return. “I don’t want to feel anything anymore.” His words were like rocks being thrown at Hank, his gaze hardening. “I want the pit in my stomach when I told Markus I loved him, only to be hung up on, gone.” His LED continued to swirl like flames licking at the sky amid carnage, the small hand in his hair digging into his jacket pocket now, just trying to find somewhere it ground itself. “I want the fact that I could never be good enough for him to be taken away.” His voice was sharp like a dagger, his mind now nothing more than a ticking time bomb, ready to explode with the slightest push. But as he stood up straight, he only got louder as anger boiled over like a metal pot filled with spoiled milk, the stench of hatred seeping into his core. “I don’t want to remember how cold I was as I waited in the rain for hours, hoping he’d show up! Let me forget how he let Zlatko take me like a damn kid stealing a toy. Is that all I am? A toy?!”

Fury lit itself in Hank’s chest towards Markus, wanting to tear every bullet he could through him at every making a single tear swell up in Connor’s eyes. But he didn’t dare to let Connor see that, trying to keep a calm, and even understanding, expression on despite wanting to rush to him and try to convince him everything would be alright. “You’re not a toy, nobody thinks you are.” His voice rose along with Connor’s trying to break through to him as he took another step closer. His eyes flickered between his breaking son and the gun, just needing to keep Connor talking until he could get close enough to pry it away if he needed to. 

“Zlatko thought I was!” He dug the barrel of the gun against his skin, able to hear it scrape against him, drawing thirium to the surface.  “I can still feel his greasy, fat fingers pushing around in my chest;  _twisting_ and  _pulling_ at me like I was some sort of broken car that was only good enough to be scrapped for parts.” His shoes sank into the mud as he gritted his teeth, wailing once again into the relentless sky. “It’s not fair, none of it is! Nobody cares anymore!”

“I still care damnit!” Hank couldn’t let it go unsaid, taking two more steps until he could’ve grabbed Connor. “God damn it Connor, you were gone for six months and I didn’t stop looking for you! Every night I was out, hoping I’d find you, but I never stopped, even when I thought the worst had happened! Even when everybody stopped, I kept going. I needed you. I still do.” His chest heaved with pain-filled breaths, freezing when Connor pointed his gun up to the endless star-barren sky. “Nobody blames you for what happened-”

“They should!” He screamed in return, not caring if it rung in his own ears. “This has to be someone’s fault!” There was a struck moment of silence as his shoulders slouched with the weight he had to carry, tilting his head back to feel the rain strike him before he spoke again. “It’s your fault! Do you want me to say sorry for what I did?! Because I’m not sorry for a single thing. I don’t regret burning that monster’s house down with him locked inside!” His index finger trembled on the trigger, hoping that it’d shoot whoever was playing this awful game above the clouds. “At least the stench of gasoline covers his sweat on my skin! No matter how hard I scrub and claw, it won't go away!” He pulled the trigger, but there was a deafening click as the empty chamber shifted. “I can’t hear his laughter dangling over my head as he plays his latest game of ‘let's see how long I can go without my core!’.” Once again, he squeezed the trigger, only to be met with another rage-infused click. “But I know it’s still there. Everything he did to me is still there!”

Another click was drowned out by a choked sob, salted tears mixing with the frigid rain, stinging his skin as Connor’s voice began to break apart. “What did I do exactly to piss you off?” He asked, only growing more infuriated as silence mocked him. “Did I love people just a little too much before this? Huh, was that it? Cause I can go back to being a microwave without emotions that knows how to use a gun. I can be that again!” Once again, a final click, both him and Hank knowing what was left in the last chamber. “Just tell me whatever I did, and I’ll stop!” His fury melted away to a broken beg, pleading for everything to be stolen away from him in the moment. “God damn it,” his jaw clenched as his voice began to break into static. “I said tell me!”

“Calm down,” Hank spoke cautiously, not wanting to edge on the other man any more. He opened his mouth to continue, but Connor beat him to the chase.

“Calm down?!”  His head was yanked back down to glare at Hank with rage once unknown now clinging to him like an old friend. “Nobody gets to tell me to calm down anymore! I hope Markus, Zlatko- the whole fucking lot of them remember what they’ve done to me!” His hand flung from his pocket, stabbing a finger against his own fire-filled chest as he spoke, hunching over as he desperately tried to keep the gun aimed high. “I hope they all remember what they’ve done to me...” his strength was leaving his trembling body, his knees pressed together as he tried to find some way to stand on broken glass. The gun dropped from his hand, hitting the puddle of mud with a dulled, wet thud as his now freed hand cradled the other, pressed firmly against his caved in chest; wheezing while he tried to find any way to breathe. “I hope they remember,” he mumbled again, his form hunched and cowering from the world. He drew in one deep breath, letting all his anger go into a final shrill shriek into the night. _“So that it_ _fucking_ _haunts them!”_

 As soon as a broken cry was let out, Hank forced his lead-cast legs to move, not having to go far to reach the man now kneeling on the ground, letting a string of tears free as he gasped for air. The cold air didn’t matter, nor did the grunt as he tried to pick up Connor, him not even resisting at this point. Hank felt how limp Connor was as he cradled him, refusing to even let the ground touch Connor’s feet now. The world had betrayed him, So he’d be damned if he’d let even a speck remain on him now, no matter how much his old bones protested. Hank needed to pick up the pieces that he held against his chest, trying to steady his breathing, just so that Connor could have something to hold onto. Hank desperately wanted to shield Connor from everything; but all he could do was be there to put the pieces back together.  “Con,” his throat was cry as he croaked out the word around the rock in his throat. “I want to make it all better for you, and I know none of this is fair.” His heart wrenched as he could feel just how much his boy was shaking in his arms, Hank’s gaze locking onto his car. The least he could do was keep him warm. “If I could take everything bad in this world and keep it away from you, I would.” He began to move towards the car, each step making his legs wail in protest, but none of that mattered, at least not as much as Connor did.  “I wish I could, I need you to believe me.”

 They didn’t need to speak at that point. Perhaps there was nothing left to say, or maybe there was just too much that needed to be said. But they didn’t need words to understand. All Hank needed was to feel those fragile hands grip at his soaked jacket, clinging onto him as if the world was slipping away, frightful that Hank would soon flee as well like the ghost of a dream. To let the light of his life rest his head against his tight chest to let out a broken sob. To press his head against Connor’s hair to just try and tell him everything will be okay. “I’m so sorry-” Connor couldn’t hold onto Hank’s soaked jacket tight enough, the fabric practically stinging his skin as he only gripped tighter.  Hiding his face against Hank’s chest, he didn’t hold back as he openly cried, heaving from deep inside his chest like a tumor trying to worm its way out.

As the finally approached the car, Hank struggled for several minutes to both unlock it and get them inside, having to sit in the backseat as Connor refused to let go, not that Hank would’ve liked to part anymore. As the car began to warm up, Hank let Connor rest against him, brushing a few fingers through his brown, drenched locks. “Don’t ever be sorry, okay?” Hank spoke up, barely above a gruff whisper, letting the smaller man lay his head under his chin, Hank’s gray beard pressed against the top of his head now.  “You didn’t do anything wrong. I won’t let Zlatko or Markus near you again. I won’t let anyone hurt you.” 

There was a long, suffocating silence as Connor’s LED finally turned yellow, letting himself focus on the hand rubbing up and down against his back, and the other one that had a feathery touch on his curled-up legs. No matter how angry or caught up Hank was, that’s how his hands always felt on Connor; as if he was terrified of breaking him. But they both knew it wasn’t that easy. Just like how they knew what was going to happen after this. Connor didn’t need to be told that he’d be decommissioned and torn apart to see the ‘damage’ on him, only to be never put back together. He was seen as a threat now. But he couldn’t blame them, it hanging in the air like a stench of death. Despite this, all Connor cared about was the warmth of the man he was against. “I’ll be okay?” Connor asked, knowing he shouldn’t have spoken. He shouldn’t push this onto Hank, to burden him further than he already was. But he couldn’t stop himself.

Hank’s hands tensed for a moment. He shouldn’t promise. He shouldn’t lie to Connor like this.  But love makes us do stupid things. So, with a shaky breath, he calmed his voice as he tried to convince even himself. “Yes.” Hank couldn’t stop a few tears, wedging his eyes shut. “I promise.” All Hank could hear was Connor’s breathing, knowing he was alive right now. Even if Hank had to hold him for the rest of his life, he would without a second thought. Just to keep him safe. To remember that smile Connor had as he’d run through the door of their house, those puppy-dog eyes gleaming with joy.

God, he’d taken those for granted.

Hank pushed those thoughts away for now. He didn’t want to focus on the past, or the future. So, they stayed there. Locked in each other's embrace. Hank knew that for right now, for tonight, Connor was safe in his arms, blinded from the horrors surrounding them and filled with love.

And that’s more than he could ever ask for.

 


	2. So It Can Begin Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! So I know this chapter and the last one seem kind of disjointed, and sorta bad but I promise it's just to get some important stuff in place for later! I hope you all still enjoy it though, and any sort of feedback would be great!

_Time is a strange thing, isn’t it?_  

Friends can become enemies, or perhaps strangers. People can, and will, die; and the World will move on just the same. Injuries will heal, and new ones will be made. Promises are forged and forgotten. 

 _But Love?_  
  
Love doesn’t go away. 

Sure, it might turn into a bitter hatred, but that spot never is filled completely after everything is said and done. Their touch might burn, but at one point it was soothing. To still remember their voice; the way it would call out in the middle of the night or laugh in the midst of the sun. Or perhaps hate can morph into love; dancing along that line of being ‘too much’ and ‘not enough’. Maybe it’s a rekindled flame, or it’s burning out without a moment of hesitation. 

_Imagine this;_

A game is being played; one of cat and mouse. Neither one being able to see more than a faint shadow in the corners of their eyes, letting them know the other was right beyond their grasp. Hatred fuels their feud, snarls and hushed curses sworn up into the night sky. But eventually the mouse gets caught in a corner. The cat closes in, able to taste the mouse’s fear on their lips with a growl. There’s a stench in the air. A glance here, and a hiss of a breath there. 

_Now imagine this;_

The cat lets the mouse go. 

This time it’s time for the mouse to chase after the cat, right on it’s tail at all times. However, there’s no hatred in the chase. There’s excitement. The cat wants to be chased-needs to be chased. Too see the desperation on the mouse’s face as they frantically try to figure out where their cat has ran off to.It’s fun for both of them, and they needed it more than anything. 

_Now imagine this;_

The mouse isn’t chasing their cat anymore. No, they don’t need to run around each other to be utter excited at the mere thought of each other. The mouse is so hopeless and blindly in love, and they adore  _their_  cat. They share a connection like no other; formed from the depths of trouble and laced with poison. But neither care if the rest of the world disapproves. They don’t love the world-but they do love each other. 

_Now imagine;_

The horror the mouse is burned with as it sees its lovely cat; neck twisted and caught in a mouse trap. It couldn’t let it’s mouse get hurt, so it took the bullet itself. Al the mouse can do is cry, and then get angry. Furious at the world that it’d dare to take away their cat. The cat is cold, but it doesn’t regret picking to save their mouse.  

The mouse screams out, but there’s no answer. Then it cries. _Then it forgets._

_But love is never easily left behind._

“Markus?” Carl’s voice rang out, snapping the man’s attention away from the vague reflections in the large window in the store front.  

“Yes?” Markus finally asked, his eyes focusing on his reflection, it seeming to catch the streaks from the recent cleaner used on the old glass. Finally, his eyes focused on Carl, the two resting near the side of the paint store.  

Carl gestured towards the door of the shop, picking up on the bell atop the door attempting to be rung as someone tried to leave. Now pushing or pulling wasn’t the issue here, given the large red sign taped to the glass that read ‘PUSH’ in large, bulky black letters. No, the issue was the stranger’s inability to see said sign due to the stack of boxes that covered his vision, and his face. So how did the man try to fix this issue? Well it was what any sensible person would do. 

Balancing his weight on one of his slender legs, the fabric of his white jeans stretching as he raised his right leg. Carl and Markus watched in confusion as they saw the man bring his brown leather shoe to the glass, attempting to get a good push on it. However, we all know how well that works given the sign. So he pauses. Markus watched with an impressed huff as the stranger lifted his leg higher, managing to stay stable as his left leg began to wobble. Eventually his knee raised passed the height of his waist, managing to hook his shoe up and under the long, heavy black handle bar on the inside of the door.  The way the muscles contorted without any visual resistance almost made Markus ignore Carl’s next few words. 

“Why don’t you help him?” Carl suggested, giving a momentary chuckle in amusement as he seemed to catch Markus’s eyes lingering. “After all, he looks like he could use all the help he could get.” 

“Of course,” he commented, his words rushed as he cleared his throat. Strolling over to the front of the door, he knocked on the glass a few times to try and tell the man that he was in front of the door. However, he didn’t intend on startling the man, watching as he yanked and attempted to jerk his foot free. Hell, he even got to see the muscles in his leg, barely pressed against the thick fabric, straining to hold the awkward pose; the muscles in his thighs beginning to throb as they needed more blood flow.  

With a final twist of the man's ankle, and a slow turn of his hips to the side, he finally pried his foot free. Markus couldn’t stop am amused hum as he saw the man attempt to regain his balance. “Didn’t mean to scare you,” Markus began to speak as he opened the door by a sliver. “Just saw you and figured you could use some help.” As soon as the door was open, the odor of artificial fruit sucker punched him in the face. Surely it hung in the air trying, and failing, to cover up the bitter sting of paint thinner being opened in the back. “Hey,” Markus’s voice drew off as he noticed the stranger’s arms trying to fold under the weight of the three boxes. However, he wasn’t complaining about getting to see the muscles shaking under the man’s pale skin; dark moles seeming to dance with each flex of his muscles. At least form what he could see until the skin disappeared under the gray rolled up sleeves resting at his elbows.  “Do you need any help carrying those?” 

“No thank you,” the man politely stated, it barely muffled by the cardboard his face was pressed against. “But if you could keep that door open, that would be a huge help.” 

His voice caught Markus off guard, standing in the middle of the doorway until he cleared his throat. “Of course,” he replied, stepped to the side as his arm still kept the door open. The silvery tone to his voice seemed like a whisper of a dream to Markus, unsure of where he’s heard it before.  

The stranger had to lean back a tad as he walked, resting more of the weight in his arms against his chest now as he began to waltz out. “You sure I can’t help? They look heavy.” 

“Oh, they are,” there was a softer chuckle from the stranger, almost like a hum. “But I am fine. Thank you for your concern though.” The man walked by Markus, him picking up on the stiff way the stranger spoke as he was able to look down on the mysterious figure. The first thing to pull at Markus was the warm scent the man carried, smelling like the inside of a bakery. The scent wasn’t overpowering, it like a ghost among his skin, and Markus would rather take that then the chemical stench in the store. Then, he focused on the combed back brown hair, it falls over a bare amount of the blue LED glowing on the side of his temple.  

“Have a nice day,” the man said before turning the corner and disappearing. But Markus’s shoulders were tense. The stranger left a bitter bite on the tip of his tongue, disguising its own fowl taste as the sense of familiarity. It almost made Markus spit onto the ground to wipe it from his pallet. That voice slapped him in the face like a spouse would if their significant other was cheating on them, sucking the breath out of Markus’s lungs with a hiss. Even the marks on the brief glimpse of skin mocked him, trying to draw the faint memory out of his mind of where he might’ve possibly seen them before.   

“Something catch your eye?” Carl noted. Turns out Markus had been standing there, silent for a few minutes in, just holding the door open and staring into nothing. As if he simply froze. Carl laughed when Markus was visibly jolted back to the present, the older man smiling at him. “Or should I say, someone?” 

“Perhaps,” he jokingly replied, finally closing the door. “Let’s just get your paints and go home. I want to finish that piece I’ve been working on for the past few days.” Markus strolled over to the table, placing his hand on the counter, getting the silent man’s attention. “There should be a package for-” 

“Right here sir,” the man stated, putting it on the table.  

Markus paused. “Thanks.” He took the package carefully in his hands, turning to face Carl once again. He studied the older man, watching the way his faced darkened with shadows, apparently, they were both studying one another. “Yes?” He finally spoke up, wondering why Carl’s gaze never wavered. “There’s something you want to say, right? Might as well get it out in the open.” His words held no hostility, carrying a rather joking chuckle that was tacked onto the end of a slow breath. Tucking the slim black box of paints under his arm, Markus waited for Carl to speak up. 

“You should see if you can go and find him,” Carl finally suggested, his thin brows knitting together as Markus shook his head. “Come on,” Carl drew on. “You haven’t left my house with someone in how long?” 

“I left with North and Simon at 9:45 pm yesterday; the wind chill was strangely hi-” 

“Not what I meant,” Carl interrupted, Markus falling silent once more. “I meant  _with someone_. As on a date.” 

“I have no need for dating,” Markus retorted, Carl rolling his eyes. “Besides, what if something were to happen if while I was gone?” 

Carl drew out a long sigh, glancing between the man behind the counter and Markus a few times. “I apricate you looking out for me Markus, I really do.” There was a silent ‘but’ on the end of his statement, and Markus certainly picked up on it. “And you know that you’re my son,” there was an oncoming ‘advice’ statement Markus had come to recognize the tone and pitch of. “So that’s why I’m telling you to do either one of two things.” 

“And those would be?” Markus piped up. 

“Well you can either ask someone out on a date or buy a boat.” Carl watched as Markus raised a brow, his expression hardening in confusion.  

“Carl,” Markus’s voice was quiet at first. “I-” What the fuck did he mean? “I’m not sure I understand.” 

“Well isn’t that what people do when they can’t find happiness in love? They buy a boat?”  He could see his words influenced Markus. Perhaps bewilderment at the expression, or maybe it was profound stupidity slamming into the base of his skull. Hell, it was probably both. “So, you can either ask someone on a date, or I’ll give you the money to buy a boat. I have my check book with me right now.” 

Markus couldn’t grasp at the straws hanging in the air to determine if Carl was being serious. “Who would I even ask?” He finally questioned, deciding that they didn’t have enough room at home to store and maintain a boat.  

“Anyone,” Carl gestured towards the man, now uncomfortable, standing behind the counter. “Ask him out, I don’t care.” 

“I’d rather not,” The man spoke up, catching both of their attentions. “Sorry, not my type.” The blonde employee tried to give an apologetic, forced, smile. 

“I’m not your wh-” Markus shook his head. Off topic, right. He turned his gaze back to Carl now. “I’m not just going to go on a date with anyone.” 

Carl shrugged, getting a tad annoyed at Markus’s unwillingness to even go along with the idea. “Then ask that guy out with the boxes!” 

“I don’t even know his name!” Markus rolled his eyes, his free hand buried in the pocket of his black pants, him tapping a black shoe on the ground. “Fine, if it bothers you so much, I’ll ask someone out. If I see that man again, I’ll ask him, alright? Now can we go home?” There was a tinge of annoyance in his tone, Carl’s expression softening because of it. 

“Alright. I just worry about you is all.” Well, Markus couldn’t blame him. Without any grandchildren, and his actual child not staying around them for more than a few minutes at a time, of course Carl would want to see Markus happy. Hell, he might even be hoping to get some sort of grandkids-wait, that wouldn’t work. Can androids even have kids? Scratch that, Markus refused to think about that right now. Instead, Markus gave Carl an equally soft smile in return. “But don’t wear that shirt if you do find him again.” 

Markus laughed, strolling over and handing the paints to Carl as he slowly began to push the older man out of the store and into the cold air. “And why is that?” He asked in a teasing tone, almost like a smug child. 

“Because yellow is certainly not your color.” Both shared a laugh this time. 

“It’s not yours either!” They both had decided to wear the same color, both sporting a color that can only be described as ‘mustard being left in the sun to dry over a bloodstain’ mistake. The only difference is Markus wore his in the form of a t-shirt, while Carl wore his bad life choice as a sweater.  So they both returned home, not worrying about the life advice, and the life mistakes made that day. 

 


	3. A Knight And His Dragon

It had been a few days since Carl’s and Markus’s talk, neither of them bothering to bring up the strange man again. Afterall, Carl wasn’t serious about Markus asking that man out right? Even if he was, how would he know who he was? It’s not like Markus was planning on going around to every person he saw and asking ‘hey I know it’s weird, but can you say something. Literally anything, I just need to figure out if you’re the dude that had his face shoved into a box like a drug addict would with red ice.’ Still, Markus didn’t mind the fact that he’d probably never see the man again. Sure, the man had a nice body, at least from what he could see from the way he was flexing, but Markus has seen his own handful of pretty people. “Markus,” Carl spoke up, somehow managing to wear an even uglier sweater than before. You see, it was on par for the nearest holiday, it coming up in just a month. Carl’s sweater was a green that could only be made with the most artificial dye, almost stinging to look at with the red, shimmery garlin lining the bottom. Hell, it even had a god awful snowman on the front, the carrot nose sticking out from the sweater slightly. “How much longer until we get to the exhibition?”

  
“Just five minutes,” Markus responded, unable to look away from the hideous sweater.  

“Excited to tell people about your latest piece I’m assuming?” Markus cracked a humored smile at Carl’s laugh.

  
“Oh certainly. Nothing quite like talking to a bunch of people with their heads shoved up their own-”

  
“Hey now,” Markus interrupted, Carl waving off his words. “If you want, we could always skip it.” Carl was the one to shake his head this time, even surprising Markus a little. “You? Refusing to miss an event like this? Are you sure you’re okay Carl?” There was a hint of teasing to his tone, Carl smiling at the fact. Normally people weren’t out in the park this close to the sun setting. So Markus didn’t think anything of it while they walked through, the faint image of the sun barely peaking over through the trees catching his attention. 

  
“Uh, Markus-” Carl began, him not entirely sure what he was watching. “Is that guy wearing....” 

  
Markus finally glanced over in the direction that seemed to apture Carl’s complete attention, his face visibly going pale. Here this man was, in the middle of the playground, wearing what looked like a cheap paper plate on his face. Markus never knew a plate could look so downright creepy. Perhaps it was the tiny eye slits cut into it, as well as a longer, thinner one for his mouth. “Yeah, he is. We should hurry u-”

  
“No, no,” was Carl losing his god damn mind? “This guy is more interesting than that boring art exibit.”   


“Carl, I don’t think-” Markus was interrupted when he heard the man bust out with a bubbly, energetic laugh. Wait, he’s heard that laugh. “You’ve got to be kidding me...” his voice drew on. “Carl, is that who I think it is?” The grin spread across Carl’s face answered for him. “Carl we should go.”

  
“No, go ask him.” Markus looked utterly confused, and honestly sort of scared. “You promised me you would. No go ask out your plate guy.”

  
Markus paused, looking at him as if silently begging him to forget the promise. “I want the boat-” Carl shook his head with a laugh. With a groan of reluctance, Markus left Carl’s side to approach the man. The closer he got, he could see exactly what was on the plate on his face. It appeared to be uncooked macaroni, painted with cheap arylic paint; the white elmer’s glue being noticable as some of it hadn’t fully dried, giving it a slick sheen. “Uh-” he spoke up, trying to pry his eyes away from the plate, looking at the thing knots with a string of black yarn that held it onto his head. “Hello?”

  
The guy instantly grabbed Markus’s arm, causing the taller man to flinch. “My princess!” I beg you fucking pardon what- “My princess! Have you seen my princess?”

  
Markus was frozen for a minute. “Listen, I don’t know what kinda LARP stuff youre into but-” seriously, what the fuck.  “Do I need to call someone for you? Are you okay?” A flurry of questions rushed to him, wondering what would drive a man to this. 

  
“I need to find my princess!” He stifled a laugh, Markus only furrowing his brow. “I am the brave knight, and I must be fearless in my quest to find her!”

  
“...uh-huh,” Markus was convinced this man had lost his fucking mind. “...A knight. You’re a knight?” His voice was dead-panned, almost carrying a ‘what drug are you on and is it even legal’ tone. 

  
“Yes!” The man cheered, letting go of Markus’s arm, the taller android instantly taking a few steps back. “Princess!” He called out, and Markus tensed up at hearing the tiniest giggle. His eyes jumped around, finally locking onto a tiny person hiding behind a tree. Well, hiding wasn’t the best term, the little girl’s head fully visible as she watched the strange man. She was wearing a pink, sparkly tiara, the poofy shoulders of the costume dress she was wearing barely visible. Ah, so that’s what he was going on about. “My amazing princess! Where are you?” He called out in a sing-song tone, hearing her laugh again. His yes focused on markus for a moment, his honey dripping eyes glowing from the shadow of the mask. His eyes were gleaming, surely smiling out of Markus’s view. 

  
The wind was sucked away from Markus once he realized the situation. What had started off as creepy now had him watching the man play along for the little girl. He blinked when the man spoke up, pointing a finger accusingly at Markus. “Wait, you stole my princess! You mighty, fierce dragon!” Is this how Markus intended on spending his night? Absolutely not. But was he going to dissapoint the little girl who was now watching him with the biggest shimmer in her green eyes? I think the fuck not.

  
“I did!” He played along, his voice booming as it rung out from his chest. “I stole the princess, and you can’t have her back!” Markus could feel his thirium pump stop at the excited laugh the man gave, his eyes giving him a silent thank you. “I’ll keep the princess in the tower!”

  
“I will defeat you!” The man proclaimed, his back stright as he tried to carry his voice like Markus. He knelt over and picked up two sticks, each being the length of his arms before tossing one to Markus. 

  
Markus stumbled to pick it up for a moment, not expecting that to be tossed in his direction.  But once he did get a nice grip on it, he could feel the rough bark being pressed into his calloused fingers as he blocked a swing from the man. Neither of them used any force, their hits just bouncing off each other his bubbles in the air. 

  
As they fought, Carl was down right entertained by the mini play being put on infront  of him. His eyes focused on the little girl, waving at her. Now this was not an invitation, but the girl must’ve thought it was. Because within the blink of an eye, the little six-year old girl was running over to Carl, crawling up to sit on his knee. Carl didn’t mind though, having a spot spot for children. “Is that your knight?” He questioned, pointing to the stringy man. She nodded, messing with the frills of her glitter covered tutu. 

  
“Yeah!” She cheered out, giggling once again. “He’s my big hero!” Carl was the one to laugh this time, it like a softer chuckle escaping into the wind. 

  
“Oh is her now?”

  
“He sure is!” She smiled at Carl. “And that one is the scary dragon!”

  
Carl watched as she pointed to Markus, his eyes continuing to follow the two sticks they lazily swung around, even hearing a slight laugh. “He’s not that scary,” Carl joked. “Do you think he’s scary?”

  
“Well he’s big...” her voice drew off, leaning up to whisper a secret to Carl. “And ugly.”   
Carl couldn’t contain a loud burst of laughter, nodding in agreement. “Well you’re right,” he commented, watching her smile brighten back up. “A big, ugly dragon.”

  
Markus overheard them, It catching off guard as the branch smacked right against his chest, drawing a wheeze out Into the air. Now, It by no means hurt, but the flash of worry In the man’s eyes made him feel bad for even making him give such a response. He could see the man’s arm stiffen, Markus attempting to smile to tell him It was okay. “I have been slain!” Markus called out in a roar, humming for a second as he saw the man relax. “Oh my time has come! I have been slain by the knight!” Markus did a spin on the heel of his foot In an overdramatized gesture, sticking his one leg out before he slowly fell backwards. He hit the ground with a solid thump, chuckling to himself. However he freeze we the man was crouched over him, worried that Markus might’ve been hurt by the fall.

  
“Are you hurt?” The man asked, his eyes darting around to see If any pain was twisted Into Markus’s expression. He didn’t want to hurt Markus, not knowing If he had meant to fall over or If he had accidentally done so.   
Markus was caught off guard by the question, his jaw clenched as he could see the man was beginning to panic. He he actually thought Markus was hurt, It almost seemed cute the way he worried about him. “I’m alright,” Markus stated, the prior thought present on his mind as the stranger drew in a slow breath. Markus was so caught up In the way the man was tense over such a simple thing, that he wasn’t aware of his hands on the man’s sides In an attempt to calm him down, rubbing small circles with his thumbs against the coarse black fabric of his jacket as they shared a silent gaze. That Is, until Carl spoke up.

  
“Hey!” He called over, worried the scene was going to continue. This might be what Markus needed, but certainly not right now. “At least wait until the girl goes to bed!” Now that was a joke, It flying right over the tiny girl’s head.   
It did, however, hit them both like a truck. The man, realizing he was straddling Markus’s hips, jumped up to his feet, taking a single step to the side before forcing an awkward laugh. “I—Sorry about that.”    
“No, no,” Markus waved It off before taking the outstretched hand before him, the man helping him to his feet. “Don’t be sorry.” Markus’s fingers twitched, already wanting to have some sort of contact with him. But no, he wasn’t going to do that to a man he just met a few days ago. They both glanced towards Carl and the little girl, her getting off his leg and sprinting over to the stranger.   
“You saved me!” She cheered, him laughing as he picked her up.

  
“I sure did,” he spun her around In his arms, chuckling at her excited laughter. “Hey uh,” he held onto her once they stopped for a moment before putting her down. “What Is your name?” Once again that stiff speech pattern came through. 

  
“Markus,” he spoke up again, the little girl waving to him. “And who Is this adorable little princess?” He smiled as the girl held onto the stranger’s pant leg, much like a shy child would when hiding behind their mother.

  
“This Is Savannah,” he had nothing but love In his voice when talking about her. “Her parents could not make It out of work In time, so she wanted to come here.”

  
“Wait, you’re not her parent?” Markus arched a brow.

  
“No, I’m the daycare teacher.” His voice was tender as he picked Savannah up again. “Well, I think we should head back. It is getting dark out.” Savannah pouted. “Hey do not pout,” he thought for a minute. “How about I make you some hot chocolate when we get back?” Her frown turned Into a rosy smile, nodding a few times at the Idea. 

  
“Well, I hope you all have-“ Markus paused as Carl cleared his throat. Right…shit. “Uh, actually, Is It alright If-“

  
“Can he come too?” Savannah asked, like a kid wanting their mother to buy them the biggest teddy bear In the store. “Pleeeease?”   
The man looked between her and Markus. 

Now It was like two kids were asking to have some candy. “If he wants to,” he finally replied, Markus nodding in silence. His gaze finally settled on Carl. “Would you like to join us as well?” 

“I don’t see why not,” Carl hummed, Markus’s gaze flickering between everyone. 

“Then I will break out two more mugs,” he joked. God, he needed to stop speaking like that. It was too much of a  sharp contrast with his softer voice.

So with a giggle shared between Savannah and the masked man, her leaning on him with a small yawn, they made their way back, with Markus and Carl humming on their heels. 


	4. Riding Hood, What A Big Smile You Have

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I enjoyed writing this chapter and I hope you enjoy reading it! Comments are always appreciated! Also, you can contact me on twitter @Grumfeil, or on tumblr @cyberlife-cunt in case you want to ask me questions, and i might even draw the response!

The winter’s cold grasp was upon them, trying to nip at the girl’s chipmunk cheeks as Connor carried her. He had taken his jacket off along the way, wrapping it around the shivering girl to keep her warm as the only thing keeping the man’s skin away from the icy bite was a thin white t-shirt, it contrasting with how well dressed he was in the paint store. “It should take us only a few more minutes to get there,” his voice drew out, still insisting on wearing that horrid paper plate over his face.  Why he insisted on wearing it, Markus didn’t bother to ask. After all, the last he wanted to do was make the guy feel like he had to take it off, no matter how weird it made him appear.   
   
It didn’t take them too much longer to approach the small building, it catching Markus off guard by how much it resembled an ordinary home. He didn’t know what to expect, sure, but he imagined something at least larger. It had a quaint touch to it, the small building being nestles in right across the street from the laundromat, the warm, distant hum of the dryers adding a subtle charm to the place.  “This is it,” the man rung out, digging out a pair of keys from his pocket. “I know everything is touchpad and fingerprint ready now, but I wanted a place with a personality to it.” He wasn’t wrong with that comment, many homes moving to more glass and sliding doors than before. Of course this was due to more androids purchasing houses and liking the sleeker, and cleaner look, but that wasn’t the case with this man. As he put the small key into the polished sliver of the round door knob, he pushed the dark oak door open, leaving the key in as he stepped inside with Savannah resting her head on his shoulder. “Are you still up for hot chocolate?” He asked her softly, moving aside so the others could step in. She shook her head before yawning, the man chuckling. “Oh, that was a big yawn,” he noted in a joking manner, causing her to give a tired giggle. “How about we let you sleep then? Does that sound better?” Once again, there was a tired nod.   
   
“Can we have cocoa on Monday?” She mumbled, rubbing her eyes.   
   
“Of course we can. Tell you what...” The man hummed. “I’ll let you add the marshmallows Monday, alright? To your own, Brandon, and Dustin’s drinks.” Those were to be the three kids he would be watching on Monday, not doing weekends as was the assistant’s request. Normally he had six, but the upcoming winter began to make the travel less desirable for parents. Savannah nodded to the idea, the stranger surely smiling under the plate. He glanced back at the other two, Markus closing the door and placing the keys on the small rounded hook on the back of the door. “Do you all mind waiting out here while I put her down to sleep?” he requested. Both of the men nodded. “Thank you,” his voice was warm as he went to the stairs pressed against the furthest wall from the door, ascending them with a happy child in his arms.   
   
Once he was out of their sight, Markus turned his attention towards the room. The living room didn’t look strange, just far cozier than he thought it would. The gray, fuzzy fur carpet resting on top of the auburn wood had a few crayons on it that were hidden away from view, except for the bit of red and yellow peeking out. Markus bent down and picked the two crayons up, carefully putting them on the small white wooden circular table that was meant for young children to draw on, so it tiny in comparison to an actual table. He didn’t dare to disturb the two drawings on the table, one having Savannah’s name in bright orange along the side with two stick figures, one orange and one blue, holding hands. He assumed this was the man. “He’s good with kids, isn’t he?” Carl spoke up, Markus standing straight up again.   
   
“Yeah, he’s better than probably most people I’ve met.” Markus noted the two tiny plastic chairs, the thought of the man with his spindly legs crouched and sitting on one making him chuckle to himself. It was like one of those chairs you see parents having a tea party sitting in with their child. “What do you think about him?” Markus questioned, his attention being drawn to Carl yet again as the android sat down on the black leather couch that was pressed flush against the wall connecting to the door, right under a window. “I mean, do you think I should ask him on a date still?”   
   
“I think you’d be crazy not to.” Carl was blunt in his response, his gaze peeking through the crack in the heavy, closed blue curtains to see snow starting to fall like stars from the night sky.   
   
“What do you mean?” Markus’s brow furrowed in slight intrigue at his comment, leaning back and grabbing one f the brightly colored throw pillows on the couch before putting it on his lap.   
   
“I mean, after what happened at the park, you’d be  _insane_  not to go after him.” ‘Go after’ was not the term Markus would’ve used, but it worked well enough for him to get the point. “I had to speak up, so you wouldn’t try to-”   
   
“ _Hey!_ ” Markus bellowed a laugh. “Easy now, I wouldn’t do anything with Savannah there.”   
   
“That doesn’t mean you didn’t want to.”   
   
Markus rolled his eyes, at the comment, his eyes focusing on the tv mounted to the wall across from the couch; as well as the shelf of children’s movies right underneath. _“That’s_ _beside_ _the point.”_  His smile was from ear to ear as he glanced up at the light fixture on the ceiling. “He seems so familiar, I just can’t put my finger on it.  I know that voice, I just can’t place it.” He rolled his shoulders, beginning to relax on the couch.   
   
When the man came back downstairs, he was carrying Savannah once more, her having changed out of her tutu and tiara. Now she was all cozy in a pink unicorn onesie, the horn lined in glitter as he smiled at Markus and Carl. “She wants all of us to read her a bedtime story.” The man’s attire had changed too, now sporting a long, velvet red cloak. Surely there was a closet full of costumes up there in one of the few rooms for events just like this. Hell, maybe he had costumes inside every closet. “I hope you all do not mind. Normally I read them stories before they sleep for their naps, and I just want her to be able to sleep well.”   
   
The tenderness the man held towards making sure Savannah slept well made Markus’s chest tighten. God, how could one person be so endearing? Well regardless, Markus wasn’t going to complain. “Let me guess, little red riding hood?” Markus asked, setting the pillow aside as he stood up once again with a tired grunt. The man and Savannah nodded.   
   
“I wanted him to be her!” Savannah proclaimed, the man smiling down at her. Markus could almost see the faint online of his smile, but the dark shadows casted by the pulled down hood were too dark, it only mocking his curiosity further. “Will you be the wolf?” She asked, pointing at Markus.   
   
He blinked for a moment before responding. “Of course I will,” What was he going to do, say no? Besides, he thought it would be a fun opportunity. As the man and Savannah got to the bottom of the stairs, he put her down, and she instantly ran over to Carl. The older man laughed as she climbed onto his lap, deciding that was where she was going to sleep. As Markus’s attention returned to the cloaked man, he noticed a small eyeliner pen in his hand. “Are you going to do my makeup?” Markus asked, the man giving a single nod. Oh, he didn’t think that was the case until just now. Nevertheless, Markus kept his smile. “Then lead the way.”   
   
The man slipped back upstairs, Markus quickly following after him. Carl smiled at the sight, noting how Markus followed him like a lost puppy, despite knowing Markus would refuse such a claim if he spoke up about it. As the two reached the top of the stairs, he opened the nearest door on the right, holding the white door open for Markus as he strolled inside. With a flick of the switch, the lights came on, illuminating the white tiles and sink of the small bathroom. “This is the biggest mirror in the house, and I want you to tell me if you like your make up afterwards,” the man explained. Markus didn’t question it in the first place, but he found it amusing the man thought he had to explain his own reasoning. The entire place was spotless, the man having a thing for keeping everything clean the best he could.    
   
“So,“ Markus began, leaning his back against the cold wall. “Am I ever going to learn your name, or is that just a mystery too?” His tone was light, following it with a small laugh as the man uncapped the black eyeliner pencil.   
   
There was silence for a moment as the man leaned in somewhat to draw a black line on Markus’s face. His face was still hidden, but Markus could make out the faint dip of his chin and the curve of his jaw, wanting to see more than he was allowed. As Markus crossed his arms over his broad chest, the man spoke up again when Markus closed his eyes. “Connor,” he replied. “My name is Connor.”   
   
Markus’s eyes shot open, them wide as he put as he heard the name. It hit him like a baseball going through a window. Connor. His Connor. ‘Connor?” He repeated the name, shoving the expression of shock down off his face in order to not raise suspicion with him. “That’s a nice name,” he cleared his throat. He meant ‘how the hell are you back? I saw you in pieces on the ground, why didn’t you tell me you were back?’ Questions like this flooded his mind, but he kept the calm appearance up for now. He’d surely have time to ask about this later.   
   
“Yeah,  _hey are you okay?_ You look stressed out.” Connor pointed out, Markus nodding. “Have you seen a ghost?” He joked.   
   
“Something like that,” another line was drawn on his face, followed by another. “So, is it just a strange coincidence that your face is covered every time I meet you?”   
   
Perhaps he had asked the wrong question. No, it was certain he did with the way Connor’s hand tensed up, followed by his shoulders. “ _No_ ,” he bluntly answered. That seemed to be the most he was going to get out of him on that question.   
   
“How do you like it here? You know, with Savannah and the others?” He quickly tried to change the subject.   
   
“They are the best thing I could’ve asked for.” That answer made Markus’s heart beat just a tad faster for a moment, love seeping into Connor’s words despite the stiffness he carried them with. “All of them see me as family, and I have returned the feeling. They look up to me and-” he cut himself off.   
   
“And?” Markus’s voice was quieter.   
   
“...And they make me feel safe.”  He spoke as if he was scared of the next few minutes, not wanting to know how Markus would react. But Markus didn’t need to say anything, or to hear anything else to understand. Had Connor not felt safe before? Just that thought alone made Markus’s mind connect to the most horrid things he could imagine. “There,” Connor drew both their attentions away from the fragile silence, pulling away as Markus just wanted to pull him in again. “How does that look?” He questioned, letting Markus step in front of the mirror.   
   
There were three lines on his cheeks, looking like whiskers you’d see on a cartoon, as well as a big black circle on his nose. “I’m big and scary,” he joked, making a little gesture as if he had claws before crossing his arms once again. He then smiled at Connor, walking towards the door and holding it open for him. “Let’s get this started,” he chuckled.   
   
As the two made their way downstairs, they heard Carl already reading the story to Savannah, her curled up against him with a tired smile. Better late than never, right? So they both began to act out the scenes, getting to the point of Markus puffing out his chest as if his pride was enough to kill.   
   
“Oh grandmother,” Connor began in a overly dramatic tone, Savannah's eyes barely open. “What big  _ears_  you have!”   
   
“All the better to hear you with, my dear.” Markus put on a suave voice, as if he was setting a trap. It took Connor by surprise though, something Markus took into account.   
   
“But grandmother,” Connor looked over to Savannah, the child now fast asleep and snoring. This did not stop him though, his gaze returning to Markus who had taken a single step closer. “What big  _eyes_  you have,” his voice was calmer, his eyes locked onto the other man.   
   
“All the better to see you with, my dear.” He took another step, Carl looking away in an attempt to at least give them a moment that he knew Markus wouldn’t hear the end about later.   
   
“And what large  _hands_  you have,” Connor cut the beginning off that line, it seeming to slip out more like a thought.   
   
“All the better to...” Markus’s words faded into silence, hesitantly snaking his hand under the edge of the cloak and resting it on Connor’s hip. He was worried Connor was going to pull away but hummed as he relaxed when Connor leaned into the gentle touch. He reached a hand into the abyss that washed over the soft features Markus had come to memorize before, cupping his chin and tilting the warm flesh up.  _"Hold you with, my dear."_

Connor was at a loss for words for a moment, Markus amused by how easy it was to make him forget such a simple line. A grin tugged at the corners of his lips as his hand on Connor's side squeezed, trying to draw the line from him. "What-" he cleared his throat. "What big  _teeth you_  have..." his voice was a whisper.

Markus cooed.  _"All the better to..._ " He leaned in, pressing his mouth to the hood of Connor's cloak as he tilted his head up more.  _“Eat you with my dear.”_ Markus leaned in, hesitantly chewing on his bottom lip as he wanted to see if he even tasted like what he remembered. 

Carl certainly would’ve spoken up by now if it wasn’t for the fact that Connor flinched, yanking himself away from Markus. He tugged at the corners of his hood, further covering his wide-eyes. It wasn’t the incoming kiss that never reached beyond a dream that was the issue. Nor was it being close against Markus. But it was the newfound warmth that practically burned at his skin from the hand that had caressed his cheek. This normally wasn’t a problem for most humans and androids alike, but Connor was far from normal. He had never felt warmth before. Sure, he’s had the sun against his skin, and even a mug that was a little too warm against his skin, but the sensors under his skin were locked, as was the case with non-deviant androids. They could not taste, smell, or feel any sort of sensation against their bodies. All the better to keep them from getting distracted, right?  Regardless, Connor didn’t know how to register this information, it soon fading back into the numbness he had come to call home. But he wouldn’t be forgetting the way it seared his skin for a while, not decided on if it was a bad, or a good, thing.

The taller man tensed up as Connor pulled away, worried he had over-stepped his boundaries. Actually, he knew he had. To Connor, he didn’t know Markus. Hell, so Markus decided it was a good idea to try and kiss Connor? Despite what Markus wanted, this problem wouldn’t solve itself with a kiss like in Disney movies. Connor genuinely didn’t remember him, or the countless times before everything that they had kissed, most even being prompted by the smaller man. But those were memories to dwell on later.  “I wasn’t thinking-” Markus tried to explain himself, but Connor shook his head. Markus cleared his throat before scratching at the back of his neck, unsure of what to entirely say, or do, in the moment. Surely Connor would never want to talk to him again, and he was even surprised Connor hadn’t kicked them out.

But Connor was far from doing anything of the sort. If anything, the only reason why he pulled his hood over himself further was to hide the strange, vivid rosy-pink flush spreading across his face and over the tips of his ears. “You did nothing wrong,” Connor finally spoke up, it seeming to catch Markus’s attention like a two-headed chicken. “I just do not know you well enough,” he created a generic excuse, if it could be called one. Sure, that was part of the reason why he wouldn’t have permitted a kiss yet, only knowing the man’s name and that he’s generally a nice guy from what he could tell, but that was hardly enough to warrant such an action. Well, maybe Connor was willing to kiss Markus, just so long as it was a peck, but he couldn’t allow him to get close enough to see his face. 

“Right,” Markus began, thinking he just made the biggest idiot of himself in front of the one person he didn’t want to ruin anything with. “I understand.” Markus flashed that calming smile, even though Connor couldn’t see it as his eyes were locked onto the ground, seeming to take a sudden interest in his own shoes. 

“It is not that you are not attractive enough to do such a thing,” Connor began to ramble, something he had often done before when he would get flustered; Markus quickly recognizing it before his smile grew. “And you also seem like a great person,” he took in a slow breath. “But the problem is just that I do not know you well enough. I apologize.”

He picked up on the reputation of his reasoning, Markus’s figure relaxing with and understanding nod, and even affection shimmering n a gleam of his eyes for a second before he pushed it down. “Of course. I should’ve asked first.” To be honest, he had missed how easy it was to turn Connor into a flustered mess, wanting to see the heavy blush on his face that he could recall as if it had just been yesterday. However, right now he didn’t want Connor to feel as if he owed him so much as an explanation, nor even a glance. “You’re perfectly fine Connor.”

Finally, Connor glanced up at him, but his eyes were hidden behind the thick veil of shadows swirling on his face, his tension melting away once he saw how relaxed Markus was. “Right,” Connor stated more to reassure himself. Neither of them tried to close the fresh space between them, seeming comfortable right where they were. “It is late,” Connor attempted to change the subject, another thing he tended to do once the silence began to claw at his shoulders. “Savannah’s parents should be arriving any moment. Even this is late for them.” His eyes flickered towards the clock hung up near the archway for the kitchen, the lights inside that room turned off. 11:45 pm was registered as the time, Connor seeming to scan it for several moments. He had to be home by midnight. That was one of the big rules he had to follow. If it took too much longer, he would have to run home in order to make it there in time, which was not his most ideal situation given the flury of snow pounding against the windows. 

“It’s,” Markus attempted to correct him, seeming to snap Connor’s attention back to him. “I don’t mean to sound rude, but why do you speak like that?” Even when Connor was first activated, at least to Markus's knowledge, Connor was never this strict or tense with his words. The question seemed to catch Connor off guard, worried that he had just made the atmosphere worse. Man, first having a kiss go horribly wrong, and then asking such a blunt question? Markus probably wasn’t the smartest when it came to trying to make a situation better, was he?

“I was told to speak this way.” The answer was short, but it only opened the door to more questions. Connor could see them before they even registered in Markus’s mind. “At home, I am required to both behave and speak in a certain way. It was requested by the man which has gifted me with shelter.” That was pretty fucking weird, even for Connor. But Connor didn’t seem to see the blatant issue with what he was saying.

“Gifted you with shelter?” That wording stuck with Markus, something about it being both unsettling and alarming. But he didn’t let that show in his expression. “He must be a nice guy then,” the apparent joke went right over Connor’s head.

“He can be strict, but he wants what is best for me.” He spoke as if it was a fact. “He is helping me.”

“Helping you?” Markus exchanged a glance with Carl, the older man not speaking up as he didn’t want to interrupt, or to push his luck in keeping Savannah asleep. 

“Yes,” Connor began. “I have a few malfunctioning parts he has offered to fix for me. In exchange for his help, I am to follow a set of rules, and take care of aspects of the house while he works on finding new parts for me.” 

His words set off several red flags for Markus, not fond of the idea of someone having their hands inside Connor’s chest, messing around with crucial and delicate machinery. Hell, even the mention of it makes Markus dread even imagining what was going on inside him. Just what all had been changed?  Several things flashed through Markus’s head, but he shoved all those murmurs away, focusing on the man in front of him.  “What’s malfunctioning exactly? Perhaps I could help. After all, I know the parts like the back of my hand,” he joked. After all, they literally were in the back of his hand, able to list off each moving joint and fuse. 

As kind as the gesture was, Connor didn’t seem thrilled about it. “I cannot say,” he began, Markus flashing a look of confusion. “I am not entirely sure, he has said it is several pieces that are lined with-”

The doorbell ringing startled Connor, his train of thought ending as he walked over. Opening the door, he was happy to see it was Savannah’s mother, the plump, blonde woman being swallowed by a cheap fur coat speckled with snow. “It is nice to see you Mrs. Finley,” he greeted, the mumbled yammering of Savannah as she slowly began to muster from her sleep. This caught Connor’s attention, him strolling over and gently scooping her into his arms before returning to her mother. “She has been sleeping for the past few minutes. I hope you do not mind.”

“Of course not!” The woman’s shrill voice made Markus want to claw out his audio-drive, but he refrained from doing so as she showed off her smile, her pearly white teeth wrapped with her awful purple lipstick. “And please, call me Jane, no need for last names here!”

“Right, I apologize.” Connor seemed relaxed as Jane took Savannah from his arms, the girl resting her head on her mother’s shoulder with a yawn. “Will I be seeing you both on Monday?” He questioned, getting a nod from Jane. He noticed Savannah glancing at him, assuming she wanted to tell him something. “Yes?” He smiled at her, although it was not shown.

“Can the wolf join us for cocoa?” She asked, glancing between Connor and Markus, who were also sharing a gaze of uncertainty for a moment.

There was a moment of silence before Connor’s full attention was back on the girl. He had intended on saying no, but the mumble of ‘please’, along with her puppy eyes she did when she pouted to get whatever she wanted made Connor cave. “Of course he can,” Connor caved just like usual, Markus only blinking in response. 

Well Markus better clear his Monday schedule. Not that it consisted much besides screaming into a wall about his dead boyfriend coming back two years after the fact, or even attempting to figure out how the hell that was possible. So clearly, a tightly packed day would have to be pushed aside. He was more than willing to do it once he reflected on the fact that he’d not only get to make Savannah happy, but he’d get to spend more time with Connor, even if it was only for an hour or so. “I’d be happy to,” Markus finally spoke up, watching as Connor relaxed once he seemed eager to participate. 

With Jane and Savannah slipping away to their car before driving off into the blizzard, Connor scanned the clock once again. 11:55 pm. He’d have to sprint home now, but even then, he might not make it in time. A shudder ran through him at the thought of breaking one of the biggest rules he had to follow, and what surely would follow as a result. This gesture was not lost on Markus, his brows furrowing for a moment before Connor spoke up once again. “Will you both do me a favor and lock the door before you leave? I should be heading home. I do not wish to be late.”

“Late?” Markus didn’t exactly understand the subtext to it, assuming he meant it was late in genral already. “It’s freezing outside. Do you want us to call a cab?” Connor instantly shook his head, Markus pausing. “Do you still have your jacket?” He did have it upstairs, but it was drenched as the snow that had covered it was melted by now. So once again he shook his head. “You’ll freeze out there,” worry was apparent in his voice, but Connor waved it off.

The cold was nothing compared to what would happen if he didn’t get home. He glanced at them. ” _Please_?” He asked, Markus pausing for several moments before reluctantly nodding. Now he didn’t mind locking up for Connor, but it was the fact that he could actually freeze and be stranded on the side of the road that really worried him. He wanted to press it further, but he knew that in Connor’s state of thinking Markus was a stranger, that would only cause issues. 

“Can I have some number to call? You know, to make sure what time I should be here on Monday.” Sure, that was the reason he wanted it. Not to text Connor asking if he made it home okay. Even if he wanted to do that, he wasn’t sure if it would be alright for him to do so. But when Connor nodded, the smaller man glanced around before picking up a black marker. “Uh, here. Just write it on here.” He rolled up his sleeve, showing the inner flesh of his left forearm. 

Connor didn’t see any issue with writing it there, waiting for Markus to come close enough before he removed the cap.  writing the seven-digit number on his skin, Connor’s fingertips burned as they grazed against Markus’s skin, However, he didn’t flinch away like last time, purposefully dragging the marker slower than he should’ve to let the only sensation he can remember last on his fingers before he eventually had to pull away. This did not escape Markus, noticing the way his fingertips were the last thing to be pulled away from his arm, almost getting ready to question it before Connor gripped at the door again. “I shall see you all on Monday,” he stated before making a quick exit.

Despite how freezing cold it was outside, Connor’s hands were warm.


	5. Heart of Iron, Soul of Gold

**[Core temperature critical. Must reach regulated temperature within five minutes to avoid shut down]**

Connor let the warning flash behind his eyes for several moments, not alarmed as he let the counter tick down. He didn’t intend on shutting down, standing on the step of his door while the snow hammered against him. He should’ve been shaking, or even letting the bird-like chitter of his teeth clicking together escape into the night. But he just stood there, attempting to imagine what it was like to be cold. Sure, his internal temperature was dropping, and some people could consider that to be cold; but he wanted to know how it felt to have the freezing wind bite at his lips, and to have his hands get pin-pricked instead of the usual numbness he always felt. As the counter got down to the last minute, he kept his feet sturdy against the ‘welcome home’ mat that he had bought ages ago, the letters worn and faded. He adds buying a new one to his list of things to do as the warnings blare once again.

Finally, he grips the door, gently pushing it open before closing it behind himself. It was heavy against his hand, the golden doorknob having small divots of rust where the sandpaper and rust-remover just couldn’t reach, despite the hours Connor put into making sure the house was restored to its former self. At least what he had been told by the owner, as well as through photos he would occasionally find. But burns were often hard to entirely wipe away from wood, regardless of how many times he sanded, polished, and even stained each panel around the house. Not to mention the few rooms on the second floor that had worse damage, there being large patches of rumble that have yet to be cleared, the holes left form where they fell still exposing the brisk elements to it. Luckily it was only in two minor rooms that were used only for junk storage; at least that’s what Connor assumed they were for given how they were locked all the time, not even the owner went in those rooms anymore.  Regardless, the flashing red of his LED slowly swirled into an alarmed yellow, Connor standing like a statue until it returned to blue.

**[Core has reached sustainable temperature]**

He glances around, noticing the thin film of dust covering the mirror hung up in the corner, it is taking up a large section of the wall near the hooks bolted onto a soot-stained panel of wood against to adjacent dark wall. He untied the red knot around his neck, undoing the cloak from around his neck before taking the heavy fabric between his fingers. Curiosity crawled through his wiring as he dragged the pad of his thumbs over the dark cloth, wondering how it felt under his skin. He could see the small shimmer of light caught against it form the sparse light already in the room, able to tell that it at least should feel soft; but all that was pressed against his fingers was a constant numbness over his entire being, it becoming a new source of comfort for him. Soon, he draped the cloak over one of the rusted, hardly polished hooks, letting his hand fall away as his attention returned to the house as he added polishing those hooks to his growing to-do list.

 This place was a house, but Connor wasn’t entirely sure if he’d call it home, even if it’s the only place he’s lived and known better than himself. The walls seemed to breathe, the tacky, age-worn carpet seeming to crawl under his snow-covered shoes against the hard-wood, Connor swearing it’d chase him up the stairs if he allowed it to. Pushing this thought aside, he noticed the grandfather-clock ticking away like a cursed metronome, watching him as he moved further into the house. Surely the place would smell like cleaner-drenched mold if he was able to tell, even promising the dust was beginning to get bleach-spots from where he’d clean, and it’d come back the next day. As frustrating as cleaning the same sports everyday might be, or perhaps excruciatingly tedious would describe it better, Connor preferred it to being stuck on a surgical table, if two desks pressed together with a cloth over-top could be considered such a thing, with his chest pried open farther than his own legs could spread. 

“Connor,” a voice rung out form the kitchen, buried back past the dark living-room, the sharp bite demanding the android follow its path. As he had no problem in following it, Connor passed through the dark and cold room that hardly lived up to its title. For a living-room, there wasn’t a lot of living inside of it, the wilted plant on top of the fireplace only making the irony more apparent. As he placed disposing of the plant on his to-do list as well, the ever-growing list being pushed back for his secondary processor to handle and maintain for the moment as he heard a repeat of his name. 

“Coming Sir,” Connor responded, pulling his hands down the front of his chest to straighten out his shirt before walking into the illuminated kitchen. The lights were too bright, the android replacing them earlier that morning. Still, his eyes had to have a brief moment to adjust, his pupils focusing on the overweight, shirtless man behind the marble counter. His grimy, grease-covered fingers tapped against the black stone with red and gold swirls weaved between, his scornful gaze locked onto the blank-faced android. 

“Can you tell me what time it is?” It appeared like a question, but the air slammed it against Connor’s audio input, aware that it was a hidden demand. 

Connor gave a single nod before speaking. “It is 12:05 a.m.; or five minutes past midnight as others would say.” His scanning gaze went down, taking note of the grimy hair that covered the man’s torso and arms. He would’ve noted that the man should think about bathing soon, given the small red bumps at some hair follicles that were too dirty, but he wouldn’t speak out of turn towards him. His eyes finally focused on the object near the man thirium-spotted hand, taking note that the thirium was only exposed to oxygen an hour and thirty-five minutes ago, it only having twenty-five minutes before it would be no longer visible to the human male. “I am late,” he spoke up before the impatient man could, that only seeming to make his case worse. Nevertheless, he spoke up once again as his sight was fixated on the blue item on the counter.  “I apologize, I did not intend on being late Sir.” He let the fact that he spent those five minutes outside, wondering if his core would cease in the cold, out of his statement of course. The last thing he needed was the anger the owner of this house. 

“Care to tell me why?” The man tapped a finger against the blue, heart-shaped item on the table. The organ looked like it was originally made of a squishy, moldable synthetic flesh, slushing around easy enough if it were to be picked up and conforming without much resistance if it was squeezed. However, it didn’t keep that polished, new look for long due to the modifications it was put through. Now it was stiff with the large plating of metal over the top, a small raised chunk having three slits in it for audio input and output. The crass and butchered fusing of the rusted gray metal contrasted against the expertly constructed blue flesh of the thirium-pump, white veins made of glass and a very thin lining of copper barely visible under the materials. “Well?” The man speaking again snapped Connor’s attention away from the object, his eyes forcing their way up to meet his again. “I don’t have all night.”

“Do you remember Savannah, from the daycare?” Connor asked, examining the growth of hair on the man’s face, able to define the patches that the coarse hairs weren’t growing in as thick. 

“Enough,” was the only reply he got. Connor knew it was better than nothing.

“Her parents were both working late, and they asked me to watch over her until one of them could arrive to pick her up.” Once again, Connor left out the details of meeting Markus as his unnamed guest, Carl. He saw no need to mention them and knew for a fact it would only make the punishment he would receive worse in the end. “She was not in any danger, but I wanted to make sure she was safe until her parents arrived.”

Connor had messed up. He could tell by the way those eyes, the whites stained yellow from drug use, narrowed at him. “Wanting is a human reaction.” The words were bitter, but the man’s voice was the law under this roof. “You can’t ‘want’, correct?”

The android nodded. “You are correct, Sir.” He knew too well that everything he said was to be taken as if it was either ‘follow this or die’. “Zlatko, Sir, may I ask you a question?” 

Zlatko gave a shortened hum in curiosity. “Alright,” he eventually stated, wanting to know what the machine was going to ask him.

“Am I going to receive a punishment?” He pretty much knew the answer already, but he decided to ask anyways.

There was a darkened chuckle from Zlatko. “I wouldn’t call it a punishment. I never aim to punish you.” His fingers crept towards the thirium-pump on the table. “After all, you would never punish a trophy. You polish it and try to keep it safe.” Finally, his grip was over top the pump, taking it into his palm which his gaze never left Connor. “I’m trying to keep you safe. So, why don’t you tell me the rules I have for you, and which one you broke?”

**[New instruction: recite rules]**

Connor didn’t protest in the slightest, not needing to. “Rule one, do not show disrespect towards the owner.” Zlatko nodded, the android taking that as a sign to continue. “Rule two, I am to cook and clean for you.” He opened his mouth once again to list off another rule, but Zlatko decided to interrupt him.

“And why do I want you to cook and clean?” He questioned, his tone much like a mother trying to explain why their child had done something wrong. 

“Because it is the least I can do as gratitude for being given a house to live in.” Connor believe this to be true, as it was the only thing he had ever known. To be given shelter and affection of some degree. At least, to his knowledge this is how affection felt. Not on him feeling anything, but on the terms of being taken care off, even if he inherently did not seek it out in the beginning. He has been shown that to throw something back in someone’s face, no matter how horrid it might be, was wrong. “Would you like for me to complete the list of rules, Sir?” He asked, a singular nod issuing him to continue. “Rule three, I am to always call you Sir when addressing you. Rule four, I am to be home before midnight, no exceptions, and you are to know about my whereabouts at any given moment.” There was a moment of silence as he remembered the last rule before he spoke up again. “Rule five, I am the property of Zlatko, and I will do as he says, when he says to.”

“And what happens when you don’t follow these rules?” Zlatko hummed, a tinge of something gleaming across his eyes that Connor could only see for a second before his sight fell down onto the thirium-pump once again. 

“I,” Connor began, noticing the way Zlatko’s grubby fingers were practically twitching, waiting to squeeze the android heart. “I get punished.” There was a hum that filled the air as the dormant pump was finally squeezed, it strumming to life with a slow and steady beat. It was far too slow, even by an android’s standards, sounding more like the tic of a nearly dead clock that needed its batteries replaced. Connor wasn’t startled as his entire body stood there like a statue, refusing to move a single joint or fuse without instructions. 

**[Manual Command Prompt Activated]**

The LED on the side of Connor’s temple turned an unnatural color, even among robots. The vivid, malicious purple illuminated the side of his face as it swirled, Connor’s eyes remaining fixated on the calmly beating pump. “On your knees,” Zlatko spoke against the speaker, nothing but the order being picked up. He could tell that Zlatko was clearly drunk on power as Connor’s LED glowed brighter.

**[New instruction; Get** **on** **Knees]**

His movements were short and sharp, like an old-fashioned factory machine with no purpose other than to screw the same cap onto the thousandth tube of toothpaste. The ground surely was cold, at least how Connor thought it should feel, only able to get a sense of how hard the title was, his eyes focusing on each dust spec that had form between now and this morning, being more than what should’ve been possible within the time allotted. He couldn’t even do so much as speak without some sort of option giving him the chance, such as his name or a question; hell, even a straight up command telling him to speak. There was a long handful of minutes that crawled by, each click of the clock in the other room, traveling along the walls, and the steady beating of the mechanical heart seeming to drawl farther than should be possible. 

“I don’t have my cigarettes on me right now, otherwise we’d have a  _smoking_ _break_. So,” Zlatko paused, moving around the small island to get a better view. “So how about you...Choke.”

**[New Instruction; Choke]**

The only sort of reaction Connor had was a slight wheeze as his hands shot up to claw with a death grip at his throat. His grip was unforgiving, only getting tighter as he cut off air flow to his systems, lungs stuttering as they managed to slip air between each adjustment of his fingers. Yet he had no reaction that went any deeper than that. He understood why he was being punished; after all, he broke a rule. A simple rule that should’ve been extremely easy to follow. A trophy was meant to be kept in a case, so Zlatko letting him out at all was a far bigger gift than Connor could ask for; so, who was he to fail at following a few laws? If a machine is broke, you fix it. That’s how everything works. 

Connor was no different.

Another sharp wheeze came from him, sounding like a radiator buzzing to life in a cheap motel room. He was an overpriced, broken radiator that needed someone like Zlatko to take care of him. Was this how affection worked? Was Connor supposed to thank him more often for this? It’s strange, certainly, trying to figure out emotions without inherently being able to feel any of them. But at least he could study them from movies; granted other forms of media worked just as well, but there was something about older movies that made him feel closer to humans. Maybe like he could be one someday. But they displayed affection in a very strange way.  They showed laughing and a lot of hand movements, normally on the other person’s shoulder or even their hand. Connor’s didn’t see the purpose in such a display of intimacy; after all, if the two people knew they were attracted to one another, why do they need to constantly remind each other? Are humans so easy to forget something like that?

But there was something...more; more to all the unknown gestures and needlessly repeated words to remind them yet again of their attraction. He wasn’t entirely sure what was mixing, but it glared at him like a puzzle that asked to be solved with all the pieces being the exact same color. But when he thought of those old black and white movies, a man picking up and twirling a girl in the pouring rain, he couldn’t help but to find himself rewatching when they’d laugh and hug each other, not caring if they were soaked as long as they had each other. He found himself wondering after those movies if he could ever have something like that. If he even deserved something like that.  Then his mind decided to remind him of the red cloak hanging in the other room, still drenched with half-melted snow and surely weighing a few pounds extra because of it. How soft the cloak must’ve been on Markus’s hands, and how that image of his mismatched eyes searching for anything to grip onto just kept wandering. Better yet, the data log of self-diagnostics was still there in his memory, several being back to back within those moments as he tried to figure out what system was crashing to cause the pink on his cheeks that left when Markus stepped away.

The hands around his neck snapped him out of whatever train of thought he had been on, derailing it as the fingers only constricted further. He was never in danger of crashing, breathing being just a more humanistic trait given to androids, so humans wouldn’t be even more resistant to accept them.  All his systems were self-contained, apart from the heart Zlatko kept a firm grip on. But he wasn't worried. He couldn’t be. With another squeeze of the thirium-pump, his LED finally returning to blue as his hand loosened their death grip on his throat. “Get upstairs and shower. You smell awful.” 

“Yes sir,” With that, he got himself off the ground in one swift movement. “Would you like me to put that item back up for you Sir?” He said regarding his own pump on the counter once again. There was a silent shake of Zlatko’s head, he bid him a good night and left the kitchen. As he passed through the Livingroom and back towards the main entrance, he eyes the cloak before snatching it off the hook, making a hasty retreat up the stairs with trying to make as little noise as possible. Even going so far as to step over the third step from the bottom, the one that always creaked no matter what. 

As he turned left down the hall, he first made a stop to collect a change of clothes he kept in the hallway closet, knowing the thin, black pajama pants and white shirt wouldn’t be much. After all, they had once belonged to Zlatko, who had decided to graciously give them down to his favorite machine. So, you can surely imagine the state of disarray they were in; holes being patched up with different, cheaper fabrics, each one being a completely different texture given by the slim grayish patch on the right thigh that was straight up cheap, artificial fuzz.  Not to mention that was on the holes that could be patched up; the tattered shirt was outright missing the left sleeve, seeming to have been torn off in a fit of either rage or confusion given how violently the seams were busted, and the countless thirium stained bled into the fabric. He grabbed those, as well as the tattered towel he was allowed to use, having a weird green stain on it the size of his hand that he knew better than to question, facing the fact that he surely wouldn’t prefer the answer he’s get. Then again, what was a little _‘month old pea soup that got froze and then_ _unfrozen_ _into a hardened sludge’_  green going to count against an already _‘fried mayo left at the bottom of a family skillet used for_ _Christmas_ _the past three years in a row_ _because_ _grandma_ _can't_ _clean a dish’_ white?  _Exactly._

As he closed the closet door, he headed down the entire left path of the hall, getting to the fourth door before cracking it open, his room being the third. This was one of those moments where Connor should be thankful he can’t smell, because if he could, surely he would’ve gagged. Why? Well, the horrific stench of puke from a drinking binge Zlatko decided to partake in two days ago was still there, only to be covered up by the suffocating fumes of bleach and other cleaners and Connor was forced to clean it up. So, he placed his clothes and towel on top on the sink, it once being white, but the paint was beginning to peal to show the cheaply put together metal and wood parts that Connor would surely have to repaint for the third time. He stood in front of the cracked and grime-covered mirror, knowing he’d have to clean it in the morning. There was a moment where all he did was examine his face, looking at his eyes and how both were analytical, precise recording devices that he wasn’t sure why they had gone with brown for, but he didn’t question it. Connor also took note of how they were both the same color as he turned the sink on, grabbing the shredded wash cloth from the cabinet before looking at himself again in the small, cramped room. He missed having matching eyes.

He got the cloth wet, raising it to his face to wipe off the make-up he had on. Now, some would think he wasn’t wearing any, looking completely natural. But that was the whole point, where in fact a good palm-sized chunk of his face. So, as he pulled away the rag after scrubbing a few times, he finally looked up at the mirror again. The right side of his face looked completely the same, but it was the left side that had been covered, exposed now as he pulled out the contact from that eye. He blinked a few times, having to adjust without the contact to see the pitch-black gloss of the glass and metal, like a tv screen that had been turned off.  Soon, the whites of that eye flickered before turning black as well, sighing as he’d probably have to buy a full-eye covering contact, or ask Zlatko to repair it yet again.  But his eyes then traveled further, seeing the large eight burned into the chassis, the white metal and burnt, stuck together blue silicone that had been branded on poking through as his skin flickered to try and cover it. There was no fully covering it, just letting the scar ‘tissue’ being the pale white of his machinery underneath, but surely not by choice. 

He wasn’t bothered by it. No, he couldn’t be. Machines didn’t get upset about stuff that they deserved. 

 He didn’t let that even surface in his mind, stepping over to the molding bathtub, it screaming in resistance as he turned the metal knob as he undressed.  He didn’t even flinch as the freezing cold water hit him, only knowing to turn it warmer at the warning that shot up in his system. To feel the water on his skin was certainly something Connor was curious about. He could tell for certain, even if his eyes or closed, that it was in fact water on his skin; just like how if it was juice being poured on him for disobeying, or something of the sort, he’d be able to tell what it was. But he couldn’t  _feel_  it. To know the difference between the warm and cold water apart from his internal temperature.  There was a moment as he let his mind drift off, this being one of the few places he got to think in as he turned the water as hot as it could go, to just see if he could imitate the heat. He began to think aimlessly until his eyes latched onto that heavy red fabric again, his thoughts instantly being directed towards the man he wore that near. He wondered if Markus had texted him yet. Probably not given how late it was. Then he began to ponder the chance of Markus not making it home safely.

**[Searching Probability of** **Lethality** **: 0.02%]**

Connor ignored the search result. He instead chose to linger on the thought of him still wearing the little black nose and whiskers Connor had drawn on him.

**[Internal Temperature Rising. Best Course of Action; Turn down the Water]**

Once again, he ignored the pop up, dwelling on how his fingers were barely against Markus’s skin with the eyeliner pencil. Let alone how those hands surged with malfunctions he couldn’t explain as they recited that story. What if Connor hadn’t had backed up? What if he had left Markus lean in, letting him feel that strange-

Connor openly yelped, falling out of the tub with a thunderous crash. He scrambled to get away from the tub, not wanting to be anywhere near the steaming water. He went as far as he could until he was back against the wall, the light on his temple going from blue to swirling gold. The water surely burned his synthetic skin, but he- he didn’t know what this was. It hurt. He looked at the pinkish hue to his skin from how hot the water was, feeling seared like a piece of meat. 

**[** **Self-Diagnostic** **: No Problems to Report]**

That had to be wrong. He’d bring it up to Zlatko in the morning and see if he could get it fixed. But as the thought of Markus was now gone from his head, the pain began to diminish into the blank numbness he knew to be his life once again. Hesitantly standing up, he went back over to the shower, putting his hand under, only to feel nothing yet again. It was certainly strange, taking mental note of it as he stepped back inside and cleaned himself up as quick as he could. 

After several minutes, he turned the water off, stepping out before dragging the towel against his body to dry himself off. There were no lavish gestures of any kind, going as quickly as he could before getting dressed in the baggy clothing. Ater all, putting clothes from a large, short man like Zlatko fit strangely on a tall, skinny android like Connor. This cause part of his stomach to be exposed between the form consuming fabrics, despite how much the shirt refused to cling to him. He eyes the cloak for another moment, picking it up after he put the towel and his dirty clothes into the hamper. Leaving with the cloak, he headed into his room, flicking the light switch to cast the room into a dim, flickering light. 

As his eyes settled on the old, dust covered bed that used to be Zlatko’s, but now being used by himself as Zlatko had taken up residence in an even larger room, Connor sat the cloak on the bed before lifting one of the stiff, cement-like pillows to find his phone. He took it in his hand, setting the pillow back down before sitting on the very edge of the bed, pressing the power button on the side to see he had received one notification. Now Connor didn’t have any reason for the wires getting tangled in his chest for a second, blaming it on the stumble from the bath earlier. But his eyes refused to focus on the phone as they darted around the room. 

Besides the fact Zlatko wanted a bigger room, there was another reason as to why he gave this one up; that being the large hole in the ceiling, singed wood and broken support beams exposing the room to the attic above, it swallowed up by the darkness in the room he wasn’t allowed to go into. His sight then fell onto the damaged and worn books scattered about the barren room, having made himself a make shift desk out of the books he couldn’t read by stacking them on top of each other and placing an uneven piece of burned wood on top. Then he focused on the fluffy form lying under the desk, Connor patting the spot on the bed next to him to call it out. “Come here Dax,” he gentle called out, there being a small ‘woof’ in response as the three-legged friend hopped out and stumbled over. The fluffy, year-old dog had been a gift from Zlatko for following all his rules for an entire year, Connor's LED always being blue when she was around. “Is your leg working up again?” He asked, only getting another mumble of a Bark as he put his phone down, gently hauling the Border Collie up onto the bed, petting her lush black and white fur.  Her front left leg was replaced with a mechanical limb, him messing around for a moment to get the leaves in her gears out, carefully moving it for her until she could move it on her own.

What was the first thing Dax did when she was able to completely move again? Well, she attacked Connor with a flurry of nose nudges and happy licks to his face, Connor falling back onto the bed with a grin. He let her continue until she settled right next to him, Connor’s attention being grabbed by three-tone jingle of his phone ringing, as well as the small buzz of it vibrating against the bed. He quickly picked it up, sitting up as he waited until the third ring to answer it. “Yes?”  He questioned, clearing his throat as he used his free hand to pet Dax, her tail thumping happily on the bed.

“Connor?” The android was hit with a surge of something from the voice on the other end of the phone, Connor sitting there in utter silence for a minute. “I was starting to get worried. Though you might’ve gotten caught in the snow.” 

“No, I am fine, Markus.” Why was Markus worried about him? If he froze, it was nothing to anybody, let alone him. He was a piece of technology that could’ve been replaced if damaged. “You sound tired,” he noted the slightly slower pace the other man was speaking in, but he let that fade as the phone seemed to practically buss with each word Markus spoke right against his ear. Even if there was a tinge of static to it. 

“Oh, trust me, I am. But I wanted to wait to sleep until I knew you got home safe.”  Connor tensed up as the wire from before seemed to be pinched again, but he paid no mind to it after the error stopped. “You’re not cold, are you?”

For all he knew, Connor could be freezing, and he would be none the wiser. “No, my sensors pick up on average temperatures. But if you are asking if I can feel if I am cold, I should advise you that I am not designed to feel.” Why would he lie to Markus? It was better, and Connor didn’t see the point, in lying to him. There was a long silence between them, Connor needing to add onto it. “But if I could, I would assume that I would not be cold.”

A simple chuckle shot Connor’s system into a field of error pop-ups.

The warmth from the breathy noise made at least four pop-ups warn him against an internal error, to which he quickly took mental note of before swiping away. “Well, good to know. Hey, I had a question .” There was another static pause between them, Connor trying to decrease his internal temperature. “If you’re not doing anything this weekend, did you want to go to an art exhibit on Sunday? It starts around three, so I was just wondering if you’d like to go with me.”

“An art exhibit?” Surely there would be no issue if he got his list of things to do knocked out on Saturday. Granted that would involve nearly staying awake the entire night, so he didn’t mind it if it meant he got to go have some time to himself. “Sure. Can you text me the location after our call?” There was a hum as a lazy yes, Connor looking up at the light switch. “You really should sleep,’ Connor noted, getting up to turn the light off. 

“I could say the same to you.” Connor didn’t mind the slight remark as he got back onto the back, laying back as he pulled the thin blanket over himself. “But if you insist, then I guess this is good-”

“Then I suppose we could talk for a little longer given I do not need to recharge yet, correct?” Once again there was a hum, it a bit lower in a skeptical kind of tease. 

“And what is your power level at?” 

“It is at a sufficient level,” Connor bluntly replied, petting Dax who was cuddled up next to him. 

“Connor.”

That singular word was gentle, kindly requesting a more detailed answer. “I have enough of a charge to last several hours,” was all he was going to get. There was a long pause, Connor briefly wondering if he had taken his first real attempt of a joke in a negative way. After all, people were always joking in movies, and Connor wanted to see if he could do it too.

_“Little Red.”_

**[Unknown Error]**

Connor needed a little more than a minute to recover from the bombshell of what the  _fuck_ he had just been called. “Little Red?” He repeated the nickname as that wire annoyingly got stuck again, this time not leaving and drawing Connor’s attention. There was another stiff silence before Connor finally gave him the answer he wanted. “Battery percentage is at 19%.” It was a lot lower than he had led him to believe, but the small chuckle again caused a pink hue to cover Connor’s face.

“We can talk more in the morning, when you’ve rested. Alright?” The slightly lower tone had been brought back to that careful, gentle worry that Markus held at the beginning.

“Of course,” he didn’t know what made him cave so quickly. Perhaps it was the tone, or maybe it was just that Connor didn’t like confrontation. Either way, he didn’t see anything negative about it, beginning to think it was more likely to be the former, curious to hear that pitch rumble from the phone again. “Goodnight, Markus.” He didn’t pull the phone away, hearing the faint noise of shuffling fabric.

“Goodnight,  _Red.”_


End file.
